Bad For You
by LxLightFan4ever
Summary: Two of the world's baddest villains. One's stolen the moon, the other rules MetroCity. What do they have in common? One Evelia Naomi Knight. The only problem? Why, that pesky meddler Love. GruxOC, implied MegaxOC, eventual RoxannexMega, maybe MetromanxOC
1. Outcast

Minion was bored. He was bored in his too-small, un-moving fishbowl, the water slapping lazily against his gills as he flopped on the floor of his spherical home. The light brown speckles across the back of his head cast a shadow across the school table – dappled shadow that stretched across from the dull beige plastic to the back of his master's hand; thin, long fingers, a regular-sized palm (for an eleven year old, of course) and the gentle wash of sky-blue that was the alien boy's hand.

His master, or, as he affectionately called him, Sir, had his head propped up on his skinny arm, the abnormally fat curve of his skull dominating his features; large, deep green eyes, a straight nose and a pointed chin, accompanied by a wearied innocence quite unusual of a child of thirteen.

Prisoner No 856 glanced over at the party of rowdy classmates gathered by the teacher's desk, clamouring all together to be heard as Super Boy hovered lazily above his goons, stroking his defined jaw with the tip of his finger as he gazed around, occasionally picking out a happy few from the crowd below. The teacher sat proudly behind the desk, her light brown hair which had been scooped previously into a bun dishevelled, yet another result of her least favourite pupil's latest attempt at acceptance – this time it had been a singing bouquet of flowers, which had shorted out when Sir had accidentally dropped it in her coffee mug, and had decided to blow up in both of their faces.

He stared sadly at his charred fingertips, picking out a chip of blackened lint from under the nail and flicking it toward his supposed 'fellow pupils'. Minion batted against the side of the bowl with his square head, switching Sir out of his gloomy trance. Resting his hand against the glass, the boy gave a small, sad smile as Minion snuggled through the surface and tried to emanate as much comfort as possible.

"Boy! Hey, Blueberry!"

The aforementioned outcast whipped round in sudden hope, creasing the collar of his orange prison jumpsuit as stood quickly up. Wonder Boy glided toward him, a slightly scornful expression on his face.

"Now, now, friends," the grinning idiot said, "What did I tell you about calling the boy names?"

"He is not worth it," they chorused, the loudest a pale girl with a snub nose and lank blonde hair. Minion narrowed his eyes through the glass at her. Her expression was of utter adoration as she smiled sickeningly-sweet at Levitating Loser.

"What is it?" the alien replied quietly, the last dregs of hope that had illuminated his face draining away.

"There is a new student coming today," he announced, "And you are to stay completely out of her way to not frighten her with your weird looks."

Defiance flared in the outcast's eyes, and his fists clenched at his sides. "What if I don't?"

The teacher cleared her throat at the other end of the classroom, and tapped a sleek black phone lying dormant on her desk, her chipped, puce polished nail sounding exactly like The Warden's footsteps stamping furiously down to the school yard.

Minion watched Sir shrink in defeat, the thought of going back to his damp, unlit cell worse than the mild torture he endured amongst his fellows.

The day passed into late afternoon as per normal – the shadows deepened over the loner and his Minion, and the steady, pained seclusion throbbed through the impressive cranium of the former, his sparkling green irises dulling with mistreatment, his elaborate, innocent thoughts fleeing before he could join them into something comprehensible, something he could focus on and just block everything out.

Then, just as he made a cradle of his thin arms and had lain his heavy head down, the door creaked open, and two people entered the suddenly quiet room, closing the warped wood behind them.

Twisting his cubic body around, Minion watched with interested brown eyes at the pair that had disrupted the day's flow.

A short but somewhat handsome man, with slight stubble peppering his cheeks and a crop of thick auburn hair, stood casually on the colourful carpet, leaning on a nearby table and watching with an amused eye at the dumbstruck pupils scattered on the floor. A slender young girl with curling mahogany tresses and downcast silver-gray eyes shifted uncomfortably next to him, the small pale hand of hers slipped neatly into the man's large tanned one.

The man squeezed her fingers almost imperceptibly, then looked at the teacher, his thick lips splitting open in a winning smile.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," the man remarked politely, to which a blush and a shake of the head was given, as well as a 'no, no, please sit down,' His voice was laced with a heavy Irish brogue.

The girl leaned in closer to his tailored sleeve, head turning instinctually to press her face closer and causing her rippling curls to wave gracefully down her back. The almost bony jut of her collar peeked above the collar of her light summer dress, her smooth white shoulders and delicate limbs tucked behind the crook of her companion's bent arm.

He gave her a little shake, then gently prised her off and gave a push to the small of her back, sending her stumbling forwards and blinking uncertainly in the gaze of the gathered class.

"Boys, girls," the teacher smiled chirpily, standing from her desk and tip-tapping over to the latest arrival.

"This is your new classmate, Evie Knight. I want you all to make her feel extra welcome, OK? Now behave yourselves while I go and have a little talk with Mr Knight."

The teacher's eyes went suddenly cold at 'behave', and she glanced at Minion's corner, her upper lip curling slightly as if to say 'that means you'. His master took the hint, the deep green depths of his irises looking down in sudden shame and embarrassment.

Evie followed the teacher's gaze and her silver orbs found the disgraced pupil, and her slightly-wide pink mouth tightened at the corners, as if mildly repulsed. She pushed back her chestnut veil of hair in front of her cheek and tilted her head to the side, so that the offensive pupil was hidden from her view.

Minion watched in disgust as she slowly returned Wayne Scott's dazzling smile and accepted a fellow pupil's friendly arm, pulled almost immediately into the circle of classmates seated on the carpet. She was soon talking fervently with the snub-nosed girl's gaggle of girlfriends, smiling carelessly as they touched and complimented her silken bronze hair and fair skin, blushing in a sudden wave of nervousness as a sudden snide remark was cut across from Rebecca Lee about the wideness of her mouth, and the deep hue of her slightly swollen lips.

The more Minion observed, the more he heard and therefore saw the flaws pointed of Evie Knight's appearance – her cheekbones too low cut, her eyebrows too strong, the white summer dress she wore not grown-up enough.

Evie's cheeks grew redder and redder as conversation rose to a buzz about her, and there was quiet fury in her eyes, now a flat, metallic steel shade. Minion guessed almost immediately what had caused this sudden surge against Evie. She was different. Yes, she had rejected his master – but she must've been out of sync with the drone of her fellows' limited minds. He hadn't heard the entire flow of conversation, but the odd 'that's stupid' and 'don't say that' had drifted across.

There was a ripple of dissent in the gathered crowd around Evie, and the new girl's mocked mouth gaped in outrage at the smugly-faced countenance of Elijah Kipling, his freckled face stretched into a grin. She snapped upright and Elijah followed, and Minion noticed with a note of interest the worried look playing about the Boy Wonder's eyes, as if he was troubled with this turn of events, but he did not intercede with its outgoings.

Then Elijah sneered something that prompted a reaction from both the hesitant Wayne Scott and the unfortunate victim of his jibe. Wayne reached across with a stern shout at Elijah, shaking his shoulder hard in reprimand. Evie straightened up, water beginning to well in her eyes, then yelled something incoherent to Minion's ears at the offender and stamped squarely on his toe.

Elijah screeched and the crowd gasped, and Minion felt his bowl rock gently as Sir tightened his grip on the glass, letting out a soft exclamation in astonishment. She whipped round on her heel, marching firmly past her guardian and the teacher (who had burst into the room at Evie's yell), hot tears rolling down her flushed face.

"Minion," Sir whispered conspiratorially, leaning closer to the fish.

"Did you SEE what she did?"


	2. Friends?

Evelia ran wildly through the corridors of the Lil' Gifted School for Lil' Gifted Kids, her sandaled feet making solid thumps at each desperate stride. Her dark hair fell in front of her face and she pushed it aside angrily, cadaverous shoulders heaving with humiliation as she blundered into a nearby empty classroom and slammed the door behind her, the notices tacked onto the frame fluttering to the ground beside her as she crawled on to the carpet and hugged her knees to her thin chest.

She felt like her cheeks were on fire – the shame of it, running from the room at a silly insult. But he'd hit a nerve, that Elijah. Old memories resurfaced and she choked back another dry sob, fingernails digging into her bare white knees. For a long, long while, she just lay there, curled up on the rainbow-patterned floor, her head spinning and her lungs gasping for air.

There came a soft creak, then the hesitant padding of footsteps toward her, and she felt something shift beside her as someone's warm presence was felt. Gritting her teeth, Evie tried to calm down the awkward, ugly noises she was involuntarily making, knowing that her nose was running and her eyes were probably ringed with feverish red circles.

The unknown person waited silently by her side as she finally tempered her mood to something close to respectable. Taking a deep breath, Evie pressed her face further into the cradle of her hunched up knees, knuckling her curled fists into her wet eyes.

"I'm not going back," she said thickly, her Irish-twanging accent muffled by her arms. Expecting her step-brother Ethan to answer, she started at the sound of a child's voice, no older than hers.

"I – I'm not telling you to go back."

Evie whipped her head upwards to see the freak from before some distance away, nervously gripping a glass sphere in his blue hands. Pursing her mouth, Evie turned scornfully away, thrusting her nose into the air.

"What are YOU doing here?" she asked coldly, still turned pointedly away. The cowed child sighed mournfully, then replied in a trembling whisper – "I came to see...to see if you were OK."

For the third time that day, Evie was surprised. She swivelled herself round and stared almost incredulously at the boy, who proceeded to go a deep purple at her intense gaze and switched his eyes to the sphere in his fingers, as if drawing support from the slumbering fish bobbing merrily in the bowl.

"But," he said quietly, rising. "If you don't want me here..."

"Wait," Evie broke in suddenly, her voice bubbling involuntarily from her throat. "Why are you still at school? I think I heard the bell ring about a half hour ago."

Something cold dulled the boy's intelligent emerald irises.

"I," he began haltingly. He shook his abnormal skull twice, then "The prison bus comes for me an hour and a half after everybody else. And yes, your buses came ten minutes after the bell." He gave a wry, bitter smile that looked out of place beneath such innocent eyes. "Your guardian managed to convince the teacher to give you some space. I think you've been here for about forty minutes."

Without thinking, Evie let out a short giggle, and the boy cocked his head in amazement as the edges of her wide lips hitched upwards again. "You said minutes like min-u-ets. Don't you know how to say simple words?"

The harsh, accusing tone returned into her voice, but it was strangely half-hearted – like she couldn't formulate the previous disdain that had laced her voice so acidly before. He didn't reply, choosing instead to settle back onto the carpet and pick at a loose thread unravelling from the hemmed edges.

Evie placed her chin thoughtfully in the palm of her hand, propping her elbow up onto her knee. Time passed. He observed Evie out of the corner of his eye, both wary and curious of her as the length of red thread continued to travel across his fingers. A ray of sunlight angled through the slatted window – it shone on his face and he turned away, attracting her attention.

He heard her mumble something under her breath and he turned instinctively.

"What?"

Evie looked a little bewildered as she slowly cleared her throat and raised her head.

"I said I'm sorry."

It took a moment for that to sink in.

"Before you say anything," she interrupted, "it's not because I ignored you. I think you're freakish, I'll admit it, and I'm not gonna apologise for it. You're awkward and socially inept, and that fish is just plain weird. But – I suppose – I'm sorry for snapping at you when you're the only one that came."

Seeing the confused expression written into his features, Evie rolled her eyes impatiently.

"Urgh. Listen. After that cretin called me –"

Her voice petered off to a choked whisper and she took a deep, soothing breath.

"Whatever he called me, there was not a single person there who even BOTHERED to come to my aid. That dumb guy with all the hair shook him up a little, but that was after Jessica Lee and her cronies had already dug the dart in. And then, when I ran in here, sure, I wanted space – but after 40 minutes, I wouldn't expect my brother or the teacher to come in; I wanted someone my own age, who'd understand. Those quiet ones who hadn't said anything, maybe. But no-one came. Then you,"

Here she looked with something akin to admiration on her countenance

"You came. You, the person who everyone hates, and who I hated at the beginning as well." She laughed then, and it was a glorious thing to see. Evie's head tossed back and her slightly-goofy teeth flashed like white stars between her wide pink lips, long brown eyelashes barely screening her sparkling gray-green irises.

"Who'da known, huh?" Evie giggled, laughing again, and to his utter surprise, the boy she addressed found something warm and pleasant fluttering in his belly, as a melody that was steeped in delight and joy bubbled through the air. A few seconds, and then he located the source – his own mouth, pulled up at the corners into an effortless grin. Before either of them could wonder why, they were flat on their backs, writhing with convulsions of laughter and absolutely nothing at all. They were both so delicate in their emotional balance before, Evie sorrowful, the boy curious, that a slight tip in one direction would result in the reaction the both produced gleefully now.

After a few more seconds of hysterics, they sat up shakily, and broke into simultaneous grins at the other's gaze.

"Let's start over," Evie promised breathlessly, holding out her hand. "Evelia Naomi Knight."

The boy glanced back at the fishbowl which he had brought in as if for an answer, but the occupant had long been asleep – it was doubtful if he had even noticed the exchange that had occurred for the past hour.

"I don't really have a proper name," he admitted, his cheeks darkening. Evie's thick eyebrows arched upwards a millimetre, then she composed herself and tucked her knees back up to her chest.

"Well, that's easily solved. I'll name you then," she continued, as if it were obvious. "What are you, an imbecile?"

She bit her lip as soon as the insult escaped and coughed nervously into her fist as an apology, flowing smoothly into her next sentence with a blush heightening the colour of the tips of her ears and nose.

"I'll call you..." Evie scrutinized him carefully, tapping her nail against her jaw. "Not Blueberry. I'm not THAT cruel. Berry?" she suggested, to which a short 'NO.' was replied.

"Don't be so huffy," Evie chided. "I'm trying to help. Hey! What about Blue? You know, for a nickname. Until you decide your own."

The boy chewed it over slowly in his impressive cranium, and then nodded in acceptance.

"Blue." Blue said, rolling each letter as it passed his tongue. "I like it."

Evie shook his hand, as if to seal the deal, and then dropped it quickly, wrinkling her nose.

"Whoops," she apologised. "Sorry. I just have to get used to you, that's all." Realising she'd offended him; she looked awkwardly away and began to play absently with a lock of glossy sienna hanging over her forehead. Minutes passed – all that could be heard was the faraway music of a radio blaring George Michael from a car parked nearby. The balmy afternoon sunlight pooled around them like a spotlight.

"So," The newly named alien boy asked hesitantly, breaking the silence. "We're - we're like friends?"

Evie tilted her head curiously to the side, her eyes bright and sharp. "Not friends just yet," she decided. She nudged his drooping shoulders and gave a small smile. "We're more... acquaintances. I think I can deal with that."

"Yeah," Blue agreed, only mildly feeling disappointment at her answer. "Me too."


	3. Memories

The offensive green numerals of Evie's digital clock blinked at her in the half-light. Narrowing her eyes, she cut off its blare with one well-aimed fist and rolled the covers tightly around her, feeling as if the mattress was magnetizing her to her bed.

The pink baby blanket on top smelt faintly of petrol; she pressed it closer to her nose, inhaling the scent.

"Good morning Dad," Evie murmured, then, wriggling once more to shake away her sleep, she slipped under the duvet and emerged somewhat blearily from her bed, bare feet planted firmly on the splintered floorboards.

"Evie! It's time for school, darling!"

Groaning, Evie shoved her feet into slippers and stumbled down the stairs, cursing under her breath.

An attractive woman of thirty sat in the kitchenette, laying the table demurely, where two plates were piled with stacks of syrup-oozing pancakes. Destiny Knight had her daughter's grey-green eyes, but her hair was bottle blonde, cut pixie-length short, and her accent held no trace of the Irish brogue.

She was far curvier than her daughter, too, although the ample chest spilling over her dipping neckline was accentuated by the help of far more false additions. Thinking about this now, Evie stared in disgust at the skimpiness of the short-short skirt Mrs. Knight wore, rolling her eyes as she went over to the sink to get a glass of water.

Frowning, Mrs. Knight tapped her manicured nails in a rhythm on the chequered tablecloth, her own plate untouched.

"Evie, you're going to be late for school!"

A stream of cold water poured out of the tap, and Evie took a long draught from the glass before she turned to answer. "It's Saturday today, Mam."

Mrs. Knight's face cleared and she giggled shrilly, her chair legs shuddering as she squeaked it back and pinched Evie's cheek between her fingernails, leaving a dark pink mark.

"Oh! Silly me! Well, that makes it all the better, doesn't it?"

Evie, who had just sat down to dig into her pancakes, froze with her fork halfway to her mouth.

"What's better now?" Mrs. Knight glanced suddenly down at her heels and squirmed in awkwardness. It was then that Evie noticed the redder-than-red lipstick glossed over her mother's lips and the extra care she took not to spoil her clothes.

Her gaze drifted to the pancakes and the specially laid out table, and her face darkened.

"It's only for a few days, sweetie."Mrs. Knight tried to explain, passing it off with a careless air. "You're a big girl, now. And you're stepfather's going to be here as well. You won't be on your own." She half sounded as if she was reassuring herself, now.

"Where," Evie spat out. "Are you going?"

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady!"Mrs. Knight chided. "I may go wherever I please…I'm going, as a matter of fact, with the girls to a concert for the weekend. We're going to see –"

She never got to finish her sentence, as Evie pushed away her plate, shot a venomous look over her shoulder, than ran back upstairs, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

Sliding down onto the white bathroom tiles, Evie hugged her arms to herself as her body was racked by convulsions of anger. She tasted blood, and realized she'd bitten through the skin of her bottom lip, to stop herself screaming in frustration. Wiping it away with the back of her hand, Evie stood shakily and glanced into the mirror.

A pale-skinned girl with haggard grey eyes and tangled brown hair gazed back at her, a Dublin football jersey pulled over herself as a nightie and a trickle of scarlet staining her lip. It reminded her of her mother's lipstick, and she slammed her fist against the mirror angrily, sending toothpaste and shaving cream tumbling to the floor.

Evie washed and brushed her teeth, then went into her bedroom and chose a long-sleeved top and high waisted jeans to wear with a giant pink shawl thrown over, and then snatched up her bag and boots before charging back down the stairs to face her mother.

The kitchen was empty, the pancakes still on the table. One plate had been taken. A note was pinned to the swinging front door – Evie, knowing the contents, threw it into the pedal bin. She finished two pancakes, but her depleted appetite caused her to shove the rest away and sit idly at the table, wondering what to do. Her step-father was at a business meeting for the rest of the morning, and Ethan was out with his friends.

Thinking of Ethan brought her thoughts back to the boy – Blue – and his alien fish. She vaguely remembered Ethan gently opening the door where they hid and calling Evie, then waving goodbye to Blue as the car skidded away and as his thin body became a blue blur behind them, consigned to waiting gloomily for his transport home.

The prison. That's where she'd go. It wasn't as if she had a million things to do, or she was still in Ireland and her mates were all on speed dial to call, was it?

Rummaging in her bag, Evie tripped to the hall mirror and slicked on some clear lip-gloss and a few coats of mascara, tugging a comb through the snarls in her hair until it was presentably sleek. She did a quick once-over of her appearance (respectable) and raced out the door, slipping on her boots on the porch.

It had been raining earlier that day, so the air was fresh and dewy and moist on her skin, the breeze that skimmed over her nose and ears tingeing them pink. She caught two buses and sprinted the shortcut through the city centre, and soon she stood in front of the imposing prison gates.

"Uhhh…" Evie began, apprehensive of the moustachioed guard leaning imperiously over the booth.

She was suddenly aware that she had no idea how she was going to be able to visit Blue in the first place.

"Um…well, I'm here to see an inmate," she said feebly, twisting the edges of her shawl nervously. The guard seemed around his mid-thirties, with a bad rash over his neck and left cheek and a muscle disfigurement that dragged the corners of his mouth into a constant frown. The dirty nametag clipped to his starched collar read 'Franklin, Mortimer.' He shook his head slowly; crumpling a soda can he'd been drinking from and chucking it over his shoulder.

"No can do, ma'am. The inmates in here are kept solely in their cells, and only close relatives and authorized, legal adults can visit particular subjects." Mortimer's hefty paunch pushed against the rail as he leaned over and looked her lecherously up and down. Something cold seized in her belly at that look, and she gritted her teeth in quiet fury. "Are YOU an authorized adult?" he quipped, and before she could answer he laughed and slapped his meaty hand down on the counter, already dismissing her with a down tilt to the brim of his cap, shading her from view.

Evie decided on the spot that if she ever got the chance, she'd rip off his oily black moustache and kick him hard where it hurt. But not now. She felt a growing sense of determination inside her – she WOULD get inside that building. Not for the alien, of course. More for the sake of a slightly-bruised ego.

"Hey!" she called up. "I'm one of the inmates'…long-lost…sister. That's legal, isn't it?" The bluff didn't fall true. Giving another rough chuckle, Mortimer answered without even glancing up – "Lil' lady, even IF that were true, you'd have to have a guardian of over 18 accompanying you to this here prison, as well as the paperwork and pre-arranged appointment for a half-hour session with aforementioned inmate."

"I believe she does."

Evie froze. She knew that voice. She whipped round on her heel to see a Spanish man with thick, curly dark hair, and skin like suntanned hide stretched over a strong, defined bone structure. He had a watchful, almost predatory air about him, and eyes so black they gleamed with a purplish hint, like overripe blackberries, settled beneath long lashes and beetling brows. His name, of course, was Theodore Carlos-Romero. Otherwise known as Uncle Theo - her father's step-brother.

Mortimer immediately straightened up, slapping the flat of his hand against his neck to squash a mosquito.

"Mr. Romero," Mortimer murmured. "We – the Warden – er, we weren't – "

"Expecting me?" Uncle Theo said softly. Even the sound of his smooth, calm voice brought back memories. Evie remembered with startling clarity sitting on his lap when she was eight and breathing in his coffee-and-spice smell, playing absently with his tie as he told her in a low, fervent tone of Spain, of the hot hot sun and the endless nights. He didn't wear that tie anymore.

"I came on a surprise visit," he smiled, the cleft deepening in his chin. "Just to see how my prison's being run around here."

Evie cursed herself silently. How could she forget that Uncle Theo had bought shares in the prison's construction and upkeep? Almost as if he was sensing her inner turmoil, he wrapped strong brown fingers across his niece's shoulder, sending warmth flooding from her neck to her collar.

"Please open the gates, Mr. Franklin. You will let me and my dear niece take a quick tour of the prison – as well as a visit to the inmate she has mentioned." Mortimer hesitated for a fraction of a second. Uncle Theo's voice dropped an octave. "NOW, if you please."

Five minutes later, Evie and her uncle had passed security and were escorted discreetly down a gray-walled corridor, flanked by five guards in blue uniform.

"It's amazing what money and power can do, Evelia." Uncle Theo said to her as they walked. His hand was still fixed on her shoulder – he felt her grimace slightly as his accented tone pronounced her full name. "It's Evie, Uncle Theo."

"You'll always be Evelia to me." He smirked, letting go of her shoulder to squeeze her briefly in a one-armed hug. "Now," he continued, his tone become serious. "What on Earth are you doing wanting to visit a prison inmate?"

Evie flushed bright red, thinking suddenly that her clever plan to see Blue was not exactly turning out as smoothly as she wished.

"He doesn't have a name," she said haltingly. "He's – well, I call him Blue, because of his skin colour. He's this alien type breed –" Evie looked up at Uncle Theo under her lashes, at his impassive, stoic features, and felt a wash of embarrassment at having anything to do with this clearly forbidden person.

"I know him." Uncle Theo said blankly. "We call him Syx here."

"He said he didn't have a name."

"Not to his face, of course. We don't want to personalize him here, do we?"

Uncle Theo looked down at Evie, and she saw with a moment of stunned surprise that there was question in her uncle's eyes, as if he was troubled but unable to speak about Blue's treatment.

"No," Evie replied gently. "I guess not."

They reached a cell with thick iron bars reaching from floor to ceiling, with a fingerprint-scanner mounted in the wall as well as armed guards stationed outside the cramped room.

Evie peered round her uncle, and he patted her head reassuringly – not a normally easy feet, seeing as Evie had endured a painful growth spurt over the summer that had fleshed out certain areas and had elongated her legs – but seeing as Theo himself was well over 6 foot, a veritable giant over her own form, he was perfectly able to reach down and nestle his supple fingers in her tumbling russet locks.

Blue was lying down flat on his belly as a white-coated nurse tended to something on his calf, his childish features tight with suppressed pain as the nurse withdrew, her blonde hair tucked neatly under her cap and her sapphire blue eyes as strained as her patients'. Evie glimpsed the flash of black print on the visitor's pass clipped to the nurse's breast pocket. Ritchi, Alexandra.

Filing that information away in her brain, Evie pressed her thumb to the scanner as instructed by the accompanying adults, the grooves of her thumbprint appearing on the clear glass screen; soon after it chirped once in assessment. She then was scanned and searched by the female guard, then allowed into the cell, narrowly exempt from the no-guard policy, the influence of her uncle the only thing letting her go unaccompanied into the cell.

Blue had his back to her as she walked inside, the hinged door closing shut behind her. Laying her bag down on the cold stone floor, Evie came up slowly behind him, unable to stop herself from peeping over the boy's shoulder to look at what he was examining so intently.

He had, in a show of fine dexterous ability, swung his leg up into his lap and was now staring at a puckered mark beneath his knee. Evie noticed with horror that there were several injection punctures from his ankle to his thigh, all leaving a purplish, swollen dot as if somebody had viciously jabbed a pin several times into his leg.

Evie couldn't help herself. Reaching across, Evie laid her hand on his shoulder, feeling a wave of unexplainable guilt as he winced at her touch. "Are you alright?" she whispered, causing Blue's large skull to turn swiftly round, and his bright green eyes sparked at the sight of her.

"Evie?" he said softly. "How – how did you get here?"

Evie smiled weakly and thumbed back at where her uncle paced outside the cell, his suit creased at his hunched shoulders. "That man, over there? He's my uncle. Mr. Carlos-Romero. He's really important around here."

Blue cocked his head to the side, like an inquisitive bird. "How?"

"Something about shares and finance. Boring old people stuff."

They sniggered conspiratorially and Evie flung herself down next to him, bouncing a little on the mattress to test out its springiness.

"Terrible," she complained. "You can play basketball on this tarmac court." Kicking her boots off, Evie slung her body over and reclined Roman-Emperor style, propping herself up on her elbow so that she could look Blue properly in the eyes.

Her gaze wandered back to where Blue was tending to his disfigured leg.

"Blue," she said. "Does that – does it happen often?"

A shadow flickered over Blue's face as he grimaced in reply, and he quickly ripped the cuff of his orange jumpsuit down, scattering dust motes.

"There are certain rare fluids in my blood that would pros-pear-ous to humans, apparently. I heal particularly quickly."

"How quickly?"

The corner of the boy's full-lipped mouth lifted in a mirthless smile.

"VERY quickly."

A rusty nail had been driven into the west wall facing the barred window. There may have originally been blueprints pinned to the nail, but at the risk of enduring tetanus, blueprints now plastered the east wall instead, secured with the far safer option of blue tack.

With a few strong twists, the nail was out, flaking bits of green plaster sprinkling onto Evie's shawl. She frowned and picked out the flakes from the tassels, flicking them off in disgust. As her eyes rose, her mouth grew wide, her throat tight, at the sight of Blue – with the nail point embedded in his finger pad.

A droplet of turquoise blood welled from the incision, and trickled lazily down his slim index finger, pooling at his knuckle.

_The bones in his hand broke all at once with a sickening 'crunch', and his mouth went square as he screamed in agony – _

Evie couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. All she could see was the nail, the tiny spackles of blood –

_- which became a torrent of scarlet liquid, a sanguine mess that barely obscured the bare, torn muscle and the distorted face, once so familiar, now utterly transformed into a mask of the deepest form of pain imaginable – _

Furrows on a large forehead, a look of concern in emerald green eyes. "Eve –

_-LIA!" Her father bellowed, finally seeing through the haze of pain his horrified daughter standing transfixed, watching her father thrash in the gore-soaked mud. "DON'T LOOK! GO!" _

And now there's noise, so much noise – like a soul being ripped in half, it's so terrible –

_She's crying and she's ten years old, and as she runs and runs until she aches there's only one thing she can see, and that's her father, her beautiful, glorious father, underneath the anvil he has just pushed her away from and the left side of his body utterly obliterated..._

She's back in reality now, with the noise – and there's a sting at the back of her throat, a strain in her chest, and with a moment of understanding she realizes it's HER, she's making that terrible noise, but she's not in the prison cell in anymore, she's in comfortable, warm, strong arms – she vaguely sees curly black hair and a worried, familiar Spanish face, and a needle heading straight for her arm.

Evie bucks and arches in her uncle's arms, and yells and shouts to get away from the needle, so she won't get the horrible mark she's seen before on Blue's arm...

Blue, blue...

"BLUE! BLU –"

Darkness.


End file.
